At Christmas, I No More Desire A

Do Not Speak Like A Death's-head, Do Not Bid Me Remember Mine End.

The Day Shall Not Be Up So Soon As I, To Try The Fair Adventure Of Tomorrow.

Death, That Hath Suck'd The Honey Of Thy Breath Hath Had No Power Yet Upon Thy Beauty.

Free From Gross Passion Or Of Mirth Or Anger

I Must Be Gone And Live, Or Stay And Die.